


you always said

by ymorton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:23:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: harry/louis genderswap porn





	you always said

“You always said, like. If I were a girl.” Harry shifts to her opposite foot, tilts her head against the doorframe of Louis’ hotel room, at half-past nine PM on the same day she woke up with no dick and a pair of real, actual tits. “Can I- can I come in?" 

That’s a fucking lie, honestly - that Louis "always said”, if Harry were a girl, blah blah blah. It’s a Harry-lie, which means it’s meant to sound dramatic, and to convince Louis to do something. That’s the kind of lie Harry tells, slow and so heartfelt Louis wonders if Harry actually believes it himself. If maybe that’s just how Harry tells himself the story in his head, when the truth is that isn’t how it happened at all.

The truth is: Louis said it _once_. Louis said it once, when he was nineteen years old and Harry was seventeen, and Harry was sitting with his head in Louis’ lap on the tour bus, somewhere in Scotland. He was looking up at Louis with his eyes bright and sleepy and they were both very, very drunk, and Louis patted his soft curly head and said, theatrically, “Ahh, if only you were a girl, dear Harold." 

"I’ll be a girl if you want,” Harry had said, very slowly, but then, he was always saying shit like that. Louis ignored it mostly, or laughed at him, because what else was he supposed to do? 

The point is: he didn’t _always say it_. He said it once. 

“Yeah, come in,” Louis says, warily, and Harry smiles and closes the door behind her. 

She comes to stand at the foot of the bed, and Louis just - sits back, crosses an arm over his chest and looks her over. 

“So,” she says, tugging at the hem of her boxers, and Louis says, “I thought you’d be a prettier girl." 

Harry’s cheeks flush pink, and it feels like a victory. Louis knows just what he’s gotten himself into, by inviting Harry inside, but he’s not giving in that easy. 

"Thanks,” Harry says, not even sounding sarcastic. Her voice is mostly the same, raspy and low. Probably still lower than Louis’, even now, which makes Louis clench his jaw. 

“You still look too much like Harry,” he says, easily, cruelly, and Harry shifts restlessly.

“Yeah, well,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “I still am Harry. That’s the point, I guess." 

"Right,” Louis breathes. “So why’d you come here, then?" 

Harry’s jaw sets stubbornly. 

"You said,” she says. “If I were a girl, that-" 

"That what?” Louis laughs. “That was ages ago, Hazza, you can’t be serious." 

She nods, brow furrowed, and the truth is Louis _does_ want her, does want this. It’s not even for a reason he can articulate- her legs or her tits or her arse, or the perverse thrill of Harry’s new body, of getting to be the only one of the lads who gets to touch her. It’s just. The whole package, right in front of him, standing there and telling Louis she’s been waiting. Who would be able to resist?

Harry with a cunt. Three years ago Louis would’ve wept with joy, but then that was three years ago. 

"So this is what you want?” Louis says, arching an eyebrow. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to make Harry ask. He spreads one leg on the bed, and Harry’s bright eyes flick down to Louis’ bare stomach, his dick through his pants, his legs. “Still?" 

Harry’s tongue-tied, apparently. Her lips are bigger as a girl’s, so full they look fake, and her cheeks are softly round, and she won’t fucking speak.

"Harry,” Louis says, sharply. He used to have to do that a lot, back when they lived together and Harry would go off in his head. It drove Louis mad, when it wasn’t making him feel unwillingly tender. 

Harry nods, and reaches down with one hand, pulls her white vest over her head and drops it in a heap to the floor. 

Louis stares, slackjawed. Harry’s not wearing a bra. Her tits are round and full, bigger than Eleanor’s, and Louis hates himself for making the comparison but he can’t help it. Her nipples are pink, and hard in the air-conditioned hotel room. 

“Shit,” he says, faintly, and Harry doesn’t even smile at the acknowledgment. She looks shell-shocked, like she doesn’t know what she’s doing, and then she’s crawling onto the bed on her hands and knees, her tits swaying, and Louis can’t fucking move. 

“Harry,” he says, high and panicky, and easy as anything, Harry puts her hands on Louis’ hips, slides his pants down his legs. His prick bobs out to meet her, flushed and traitorously hard. Louis stares at it helplessly. 

“Can I,” Harry says, sounding dazed. “Can I, Lou, please?" 

Good fucking Christ. Louis puts a hand over his face, takes a breath. It’s easier if he can’t see. It’s easier if it’s just Harry’s rough Northern voice and her big hands on Louis’ thighs. 

"Fine,” he says, shakily. “Fine, I don’t- fucking. I don’t fucking care." 

His cock twitches, fully hard and painfully sensitive, proving him wrong. 

Harry makes a grateful sound, and puts her warm hands onto Louis’ hips before she slides her mouth down over the head. 

Louis keeps a hand over his face, for as long as he can, but his mind is racing and it’s almost worse to picture it. He thought, maybe, if he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend it was Eleanor. 

Instead, his brain pictures Harry sucking his dick - actual Harry, with his wide eyes and strong boy’s jaw and peach-fuzz stubble on his upper lip Zayn always takes the mick about. And that’s not right, that’s not - Louis takes his hand away from his face, terrified. 

Harry’s bobbing on his prick, her eyes fluttered shut and her mouth plush and hot, and Louis feels an abrupt tenderness towards her, the way he gets toward a girl when they’re doing this to him. His heart goes soft, even though it’s just Harry, and he touches his hand to Harry’s forehead, the start of her thick, dark hair. 

Harry’s eyes slide open and she looks up at him and moans loud around him, and Louis remembers the beautiful girl waiting for him back in England, and all the times Harry has left him behind, and he digs his hand into Harry’s hair, hard, fingernails scrabbling. 

Harry moans again, because he’s a fucking masochist and always has been, and Louis hates that he knows how to make Harry come apart, even though they’ve never slept together before. It feels natural to pull on Harry’s hair, to force her mouth down deeper on Louis’ cock, curling his hand around the back of her head to shove it down. It feels so easy to keep _pushing_. It feels like- 

Harry gags loudly, throat pulsing around his dick, and Louis lifts his hand, terrified, shakes himself out of it. 

"Haz-" 

"M'fine,” Harry chokes out, lifting her head. “I’m fine. Don’t stop." 

Her eyes are wet, and Louis watches as she kisses the head of his dick like she’s easing herself back into it, and then goes down again. 

Louis touches her forehead again, wide-eyed, breathless with how good it feels. Breathless with how close he just came to losing control, to hurting her. Maybe this is what sex would’ve been like, if they’d ever had it - Louis hurting him the whole time, pushing him, seeing how much Harry could take. 

Louis thrusts his hips up, and hates himself, and comes in thick twitches that reverberate throughout his whole body, leave him breathless and laid out flat. Harry won’t move. Harry won’t fucking move. Harry’s eyes are closed and she’s letting Louis come in her mouth and she looks like she’s in pain. Her brows are furrowed desperately, gasping out loud breaths through her nose. 

When she finally pulls off, Louis is close to tears. He digs his fingers into his palm to stave them off. His breath won’t stop shuddering, too-fast and unsteady. Fucking hell. 

Harry lifts her head, glaze-eyed. Her mouth is a dark, used pink. 

"Had a lot of practice at that, have you?” is the first thing Louis says, and it’s almost funny, landing like a brick in the tense silence between them. The stupidest thing he could have said. Louis’ got a knack for that. 

Harry’s face twitches, hurt, and she looks down, wipes her wrist over her mouth.

“Didn’t seem to- to mind,” she says, and Louis lets out a brittle laugh. 

“It’s a compliment,” he says. Harry’s getting to her knees on the bed, pulling herself up. There’s a red mark on her right breast from lying against the matted sheets, and something about it is so real and human that it makes Louis scared. He misses Harry, suddenly, stupid hunchbacked Harry with his dopey grin. He doesn’t know this person. 

Harry kneels there, and looks at him, and then slides her hand down her belly and into her boxers. Her eyes are wide, watching him. Louis goes hot all over, his neck and his chest and his ears.

“Don’t,” he says, fumbling for his pants, still twisted around his calves. He pulls them up, hiding his cock from Harry’s greedy gaze. “Don’t bloody do that." 

Harry’s mouth is half-open. There’s a smear of come drying white on the left side of her jaw. 

"Why?” she says, slow, confused. “Let me-" 

"Fucking, just, shut up, stop it,” Louis says, harshly, and he scrambles up on the bed, pushes Harry down onto her back. It feels odd to do that. He doesn’t push El around in bed, ever, but Harry’s _Harry._ He’s been wrestling Harry since they were children. He knows every trick in the book. 

And then he pulls Harry’s boxers down and off, kneeling between her legs, and - Christ. Louis doesn’t know this trick. He doesn’t know what Harry’s doing to him, because his head is spinning and his mouth is starting to water just at the sight, the scent. 

Harry’s chest is heaving frantically, her legs splayed and trembling like she wants to close them again but she’ll keep them open for Louis.

“Fuck,” she says, voice shaky. “C'mon, please, please." 

Louis stares down at her. Harry’s cunt isn’t pretty, exactly - the hair thick and dark between her legs, lips flashing pink between the curls. Eleanor keeps herself waxed smooth, and her skin is fair and baby-soft. 

Louis’ tempted to say that out loud, the same way he was tempted to push Harry’s mouth harder down onto him, but this time he manages to control himself. 

"Lou,” Harry says, sounding terrified, and Louis lowers his head, kisses one of the laurel tattoos and slips his fingers between her legs. 

The hair is coarse against his hand, but she’s slick-wet and soft and hot inside, and Louis’ stomach clenches with satisfaction as he spreads it everywhere, makes a mess, pressing down at the spots that make her shiver. When he runs his thumb roughly over her clit she squeaks, and when he puts his lips on it he can hear her strangled gasp. 

It’s mad how good it feels. How good she tastes. Sweet and thick and heady, like overripe fruit, and Louis licks and licks at her, his eyes closed, wet all over his mouth and his chin, kissing her clit until she whines, oversensitive. Louis can feel the way her muscles twitch against his face, eager and restless. 

He puts his wet fingers on the back of her thigh to push it up, push her open, and lowers his head further, puts his tongue in her, alongside two of his fingers, and when her cunt clenches he can’t help but groan. 

He has to pull back, after a minute. His throat is dry, his jaw aches, he can’t feel his lips. Harry’s sprawled there, hands fisted in the sheets, her tits and belly quivering like jelly, heaving as she breathes. 

Louis makes eye contact with her, has to look down, at her thighs and her cunt. 

“What’s it taste like,” Harry says, hoarsely, and Louis feels his stomach twist as he reaches back down between her legs, rubs his fingers in the slick and brings it to Harry’s waiting mouth. 

Harry sucks them in, murmuring around two of Louis’ fingers, and it’s so hot Louis feels his dick twitch hard in his pants. God, Harry is - so- 

“You’re fucking disgusting,” he says, mouth like sandpaper, and he’s scared of Harry seeing the way his face looks as he lies, so he pushes her legs open and goes down on her again, thumbing against the folds around her clit while he fucks her with his tongue.

Harry comes once, fast, and then once more right in a row, smacking the bed with her hand and whimpering as she thrusts down against Louis’ face. He turns his head to breathe, fast and short, and lets her leg down to rest against the sheet. It’s shaking, but so are his hands, so they’re even.

He sneaks a glance up - Harry’s eyes are closed, good - and reaches down to adjust himself in his pants, press hard at the base of his cock. His dick is pulsing eagerly, and Harry can’t find that out. He can’t give Harry that knowledge.

When he sits up it feels too intimate to be on the bed with her, and he has to roll quickly off onto trembling legs, grab Harry’s shirt off the ground. 

He tosses it at her, and she catches it, sitting up in bed. Her chest is still heaving. 

“This shouldn’t have happened,” Louis says, trying to keep his voice from cracking. 

“No one needs to know,” Harry says, scooting up to sit against the headboard with her knees to her chest, not putting her shirt on. How can she just - be like that? Naked and entirely unconcerned with it, her tits pressed against her legs and her arse against the bare sheets. 

Louis nods, and then he thinks about Eleanor, and he starts to get angry. He gets angry because the other option is feeling guilty, and none of this was Louis’ fucking fault, so why should he feel guilty?

“You finally did it, huh?” he says, grabbing a t-shirt out of his suitcase and shoving it on. “Finally fucking managed it." 

"What?” Harry says, so innocently, oh so fucking innocently. Louis wants her to put her fucking shirt on. 

“Managed to get to me,” Louis says. “Managed to fuck things up with my girlfriend-" 

"I haven’t fucked anything up,” Harry says, face narrowing. “You don’t need to tell her." 

"Who gives a shit if I tell her?” Louis snaps. “ _I_ know I bloody did it. That must feel so bleedin’ amazing for you, eh?" 

"Louis,” Harry says, low. “I wasn’t trying to fuck anything up-" 

"Don’t lie,” Louis says, pointing at her. “Don’t lie. You knew I’d say yes." 

Harry stares at him. 

"You knew I’d-” Louis starts, and he has to put his hand over his face. Oh god. He’s fucked it all up, hasn’t he? 

“Lou." 

"You have no fucking clue what it’s like!” Louis spits. “To be with someone for this long! And you come in here, with your fucking - _tits_ -" 

Harry covers the aforementioned body part with her arm, looking defensive and small. 

”- and you make me do this!“ 

” _Make_ you?“ Harry says, eyes flashing. 

"Yes!" 

Louis knows he’s not being rational. He knows it’s not all Harry’s fault. 

But at the same time he knows the way Eleanor reacts to all the fucking bullshit that’s thrown at her. The beard accusations, and the tweets, and the Instagram comments, and the signs at the concerts. He knows it’s been bloody hard for her, and he knows that it makes things weird with Harry, and he knows the way she’d feel if she found out. Cunt or not. He had sex with _Harry_. 

Louis’ definitely going to cry. 

"I need you to get out of my room,” he says. 

“Louis, don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is,” Harry says, clutching her shirt with both hands. 

“Oh that’s fucking hilarious, coming from you,” Louis says bitterly. “Since you’ve been waiting four bloody years for this. Hope it gave you enough wank material for the rest of your fucking life, Haz, coz it’s never happening again-" 

"Fuck you,” Harry chokes out, rolling off the bed, putting her shirt on. 

“I don’t care how long you’ve got a pussy, don’t fucking try it out with me again, you understand me?" 

Harry’s wriggling into her boxers, and her head is bent, hair hiding her face. 

"I hope you feel good,” Louis says loudly, holding his jaw tight, his eyes burning furiously. “I hope you feel really fucking happy with yourself." 

Harry lets out a sound that might be a sob, and kicks her shoes on, shouldering the hotel room door open and letting it swing heavily shut behind her. 

Louis throws the deadbolt over the door, his fingers shaking, and then slides down until he’s sitting on the floor, against the wall. His mind feels blank, and his mouth still tastes of Harry, and Louis’ come is on Harry’s face and that’s not something that he’ll ever be able to take back. 


End file.
